


The Most Innocent Man In America

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Rubicon
Genre: Codes & Ciphers, Conspiracy Theories, M/M, September 11 Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kale had been awake for four days. He had seen bodies falling through the sky, people fling themselves to the ground from a hundred stories high, towers alight and then collapse. He had seen the city around him burn, and he had seen the advent of a new world order. He did not have time for games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Innocent Man In America

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omphale23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/gifts).



There was a plant on Kale's desk when he got there on Wednesday morning. He looked at it for a minute, and then bent to inhale the soft scent of its blooms. " _Middlemist camellia_ " he murmured. The Middlemist Red was beautiful. Its flowers were actually pink in colour. To the common eye it would look like the roses found in better gardens and hothouses around the world.

Kale sat at his desk and contemplated the plant. An unexpected development in what had seemed like it was going to be an ordinary day. There was no note, of course. The flower was the beacon: the message would arrive shortly.

Grace walked into his office and put down a stack of files. "That was delivered early this morning, according to security. It came at 6:35 am, just after the morning shift started. There was no note, so I thought that charming young man of yours had finally come to his senses and decided to woo me. Sadly - for me, at any rate - your Aunt Margaret called at 7:45 am to confirm its delivery. I thanked her on your behalf, though I'm sure you'll also send a note."

"Of course," said Kale. Grace never failed to remind him of his manners. She did so with a slightly ironic lift of her eyebrows, as though she knew it was a lost cause, but needs must, and all that.

Grace had been a welcome gift from Spengler when Kale had agreed to move from operations to analysis. The former executive assistant to three governors and a president, she had left the public sector in a first step towards retirement. She was at work before Kale in the morning and left after he did in the evening, managed a team of five administrative assistants, supervised intake and filing, and edited every single document that came to Kale's desk from the teams before it went upstairs. She never worked Sundays, and would only do a half-day on Saturdays if there was no other option. She was sixty, looked forty, and was healthier than most twenty year-olds.

She was the only one of his staff to have ever met Walter.

"Did Margaret leave a message?"

"Yes. Your cousin Stephen will be in town today, unexpectedly, and would like to meet you for drinks at the Plaza at six o'clock. Walter was also invited, but I told her that he is travelling for work. Your calendar is clear, though I told her that I would confirm once I had spoken to you."

"Six o'clock will be fine; I'll call Stephen myself. Thank you."

Grace nodded, and paused on her way out the door, looking at the flowers. "They're lovely, aren't they. They remind me of a flower I saw once in China before the war, the Middlemist Camellia. That shade of pink is quite uncommon. But of course the Middlemist is practically extinct, is it not? I believe the only remaining specimen is in a collection in England."

Kale arched an eyebrow at her. "There are some very talented botanists. It is most likely a hybrid."

She nodded. "Of course. Genetic splicing, and all that. It's remarkable how they matched the color so perfectly."

*

"Please thank your mother for the flowers again," Kale said as the waiter poured the wine.

Stephen smiled at him gently. "She would have had them delivered to Walter's office directly; she knows camellias are his favorite, not yours. But it's our understanding that he'll be out of the office for at least a week."

Kale sipped his wine. Stellar. "No, he'll be back tomorrow."

"Ah, yes. Of course, he's only in Boston, right?"

"Atlanta, this trip."

Stephen smiled and shook his head. "It's hard to keep up with him sometimes. We had thought that when you settled down, it meant the end of keeping track of where you in the world you might be. And then you went and found a lovely partner who is on the road almost as much as you were."

"I don't think anybody could possibly be on the road as much as I was in the eighties," said Kale wryly.

"No." Stephen grinned. "I don't think you set foot on American soil once between 1981 and 1984. You gave a whole new meaning to the term jet-setter. Mother still had an eye on you, though. She was always grateful for the way you called when your flight had safely landed, no matter where you were. There were so many unfortunate incidences with aircraft in those days. It's so much safer now. The end of the Cold War had such a remarkable impact on global security. And yet, I can't help wonder if we'll look back on them and call them the 'good old days' sooner than later."

Kale looked up from his menu. "Do you think it's too early for the pumpkin soup to be decent?"

"Had enough shop talk at work?" Stephen grinned. "Are they using a cream base or stock in the soup? One must be careful with creams."

"Sometimes stock can overpower the taste of the pumpkin," Kale said, "Unless the chef has a light touch."

"Good point. And you probably don't get to have cream soups all that often, give Walter's delicate stomach. I do hope he's being careful with what he eats in Atlanta. Then again, travelling always weakens one's defenses, doesn't it? I never expect to come back from a trip feeling as well as I did when I left. One is always so tempted by what seems like exotic menus. Although maybe it's just flying. I always catch a cold on the flight home. The last time I was out of the office for five days."

"You have a delicate constitution, yourself, Stephen." Kale said, smiling fondly at his cousin. "I took Marilyn aside on your wedding day and told her that the secret to be happily married to you was to always ensure she had throat lozenges in her purse."

Stephen smiled back. "And here we are, still happily married after nine years. We've got great plans for our eleventh anniversary. It's not the traditional milestone, I know, but since we were together for so long before that, it doesn't seem to make sense to follow the five-year rubric set by the greeting card industry."

*

The next morning, Kale arranged to send a ghost orchid to Margaret, and a tropical aloe to Stephen's hotel.

"An aloe," Grace repeated. "Won't it be difficult to travel with that?"

"He's on a road trip," said Kale. "He plans to take the scenic route to D.C. Stephen's a great fan of the light on the water at the end of the summer."

"There are times I wish I made my living stopping to smell the roses," Grace said. "Did you tell him that I very much liked the photo of his that was on the front of the _Times'_ travel section last week?"

"I did," said Kale. "He sends thanks. He's going to arrange for a print to be sent to you."

"There's a very nice flowering aloe," Grace said thoughtfully. "Plants are such good company on the road."

*

Walter was in the shower when Kale got home that evening.

"I wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours," said Kale, stepping into the hot steam. He ran his hand down Walter's torso, that lovely expanse of skin bare and wet.

"Hello, you," said Walter, smiling. "I caught an earlier flight."

"You didn't call."

"No," said Walter. "You know I don't like to bother you at work if it isn't important."

"And you know that there is nothing more important to me than you," said Kale, stepping closer and taking Walter's hand in his.

"If anybody else said that, it would sound like a line," said Walter, watching as Kale linked their fingers together and brought them up to his mouth, kissing Walter's hand.

Kale had spent the better part of his life under scrutiny. He was lucky enough to have had loving, attentive parents. He'd gone from small, private schools to a small, private college and had been taught by teachers who were constantly monitored and evaluating their students. In the Marines, there was always somebody watching. In Force Recon, he had been surrounded by some of the most observant men in the world, men who spent their lives training to do nothing but notice the world around them. His current co-workers were, in many ways, simply more academic, less fit versions of Recon Marines.

And yet, the first time his eyes had met Walter's, he'd caught his breath. For all that he'd been watched, he wasn't sure he'd ever been seen until that moment. A sentimental thought, yes, but the most true thing he'd ever known.

He'd taken Walter home that first night, unable to resist that steady gaze. Nothing else had seemed important: not the twenty years between them, not the differences in their politics and they lives they had lived, and certainly not the boyfriend Walter had said was waiting up for him. He hadn't expected it to last, not the way Walter was looking at him. For if he truly saw Kale, saw who he was and what he could do, surely he wouldn't stay. And if Walter didn't see all of it, Kale would get rid of him anyway, for failing to live up to his promise. It was lose-lose, the same equation Kale used to measure every lover. None stayed.

None stayed, until Walter. Kale had come home one day, after a particularly trying day at work, and Walter had poured him a glass of wine. Kale had been about to announce that they were done, that Walter had to leave, that Kale would help him gather his things and find a new apartment. But Walter had touched his hand as he'd picked up his wine glass. "You don't have to talk about," he said. "I don't even particularly want you to do so. What's more, I'm pretty sure that even if I wanted you to, and you wanted to, you aren't allowed to. So. We can go to bed, or we can go to the Rothko exhibit at the Met. What would you prefer, Kale?"

Kale put down his wine glass and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It was the closest he'd come to a tell in forty years. "There's a little cafe that just opened near the Met, I think it's called Chagall's. It's getting good reviews," he'd said.

While Walter called for a reservation, Kale had used the phone in his study to call his lawyer and arranged for Walter to be put on title for the loft. He hadn't been particularly careful to not be caught: Walter overheard the last part of the phone call when he'd come upstairs to dress for dinner. They had missed their reservation.

Now, for the first time, Kale was trying to hide something from Walter. He'd never done it before; he honestly wasn't sure it could be done. For the love of all that was holy to him, he hoped it could, if only for a few days. He just needed time. Not much, but some. A few days.

"It's not a line," he said quietly, touching his lips to Walter's hand again. "I wish you had called, but I'm glad you're home."

"I'm not sure I should get too close," said Walter, smoothing his thumb over Kale's cheek. "I cancelled my meeting this morning because I felt so sick I couldn't think of anything but getting home. The flight was terrible. I've never come so close to using a air sickness bag in my life, and there wasn't a second of turbulence."

"I never catch your colds," said Kale. "I'm not worried." He kissed Walter. Walter resisted for a minute, but Kale kept his touch gentle, licking softly at Walter's mouth until he opened to him, until he gave himself over to Kale.

"I'll make you soup," said Kale, a few minutes later. Walter was in his arms, boneless and compliant, hot water still beating down on them. "You get into bed: I'll bring it up for you. And then I'll rub you down with that oil we bought in Mumbai. Do you have plans tomorrow?"

Walter shook his head. "Cancelled everything as soon as I got home."

"Good." Kale kissed his hair. "I don't have to go into the office this weekend. We can have a couple of lazy days in bed, get you back in fighting trim."

"Will you fuck me," Walter asked. He kissed Kale, deeply. "If you're going to get close, and risk this awful cold, I want you as close as I can get you. It's been a week, Kale. And, Christ, that email you sent on Wednesday almost made me come in my pants. In the middle of meeting with the Sony team, no less. You asshole. You have to fuck me, to make up for that."

"Let's see how you feel, first."

"I feel better now," said Walter.

Kale pulled back far enough for Walter to see his disbelieving look. "No, you don't."

Walter grinned and rubbed their noses together. "Well, fine, I don't. But I think I'm going to feel worse in a few hours, and I want you. Now." He reached down and took both of their cocks in his hand, rubbing them together. "Do you want me to say please?"

Kale drew an unsteady breath. "There's lube on the shelf behind you," he said.

"I know," Walter laughed and pressed the bottle into Kale's hand. "There's more than one boy scout in this family."

*

Kale had been at the work for eighty-odd hours when Spengler stepped into his office. "I understand that your young man hasn't been well."

Kale put down the report on the volatility of jet fuel that he'd been reading. He'd finally sent his team home a few hours ago, but he'd been waiting for this. Some kind of reckoning was inevitable when you cheated death. "It was just a touch of flu," he said. "He was out of town for work last week; he never comes home healthy. It barely signifies, I think, given – given Tuesday. "

"He missed work, I understand," said Spengler, ignoring the obvious gambit to change the subject. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of Kale's desk. "On Tuesday. His office was in the first tower, was it not? Has he heard from any of his co-workers?"

Kale had been awake for four days. He had seen bodies falling through the sky, people fling themselves to the ground from a hundred stories high, towers alight and then collapse. He had seen the city around him burn, and he had seen the advent of a new world order. He did not have time for games.

"There are things I won't sacrifice," he said evenly, meeting Spengler's eyes. "I have made promises I am beholden to keep, promises that supersede any others I have made. There are things I will not give up for this job."

"Your co-workers have made great sacrifices, lost many important things. Vital things, some would say." said Spengler. "David and Will have suffered unimaginable losses, for example. Are you saying you are not prepared to do the same thing for your country?"

"The country I love would not ask me to sacrifice those things, just as it did not ask Will and David to do so. Those were not sacrifices given willingly: that was murder. And if I had known that Will's wife would be there, that he would have lost his child, that David would have lost his own child, and his only grandchild – I would not ask my team to give what I would not." Kale took a breath, and then another. "If either one of them had been asked, 'What would you give?' they both would have said, 'My life, not theirs.' If you ask me that, I will answer the same. My life, not his." He paused. "Are you asking me, Truxton?"

Spengler was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. "I would not ask any of you to give what I would not, either. I didn't know, either, Kale. I would have done everything in my power to keep any of you or yours away from there. I hope you know that."

"Thank you," Kale said. "I know."

They watched each other for a moment, carefully. For all that they were candid with each other, they were rarely honest. A brand new era, thought Kale. Maybe.

"You should go home," said Spengler, standing. "I intend to do so myself, if only for a few hours. You should shower, sleep. Say hello to your young man; I'd imagine he's in need of your comfort, as you are his. I ask that you keep your phone on, but you yourself should go. There's nothing more we can do here, for now. Nothing to do here and so much that needs to be done, all at the same time. It's a new day, Kale. We may as well face it somewhat rested."

"Yes," Kale nodded. "Please give my love to Clara."

"I will," Spengler paused. "Give my best to Walter," he said.

"Thank you, I will." Kale nodded his goodbye. When he was sure that Spengler had left the vicinity, he allowed himself to slump back in his chair for a moment, and covered his eyes with his hands. A new day, indeed.

When he looked his desk, his eyes fell on the camellia. Somehow it had survived the chaos of the last three days. He would take it home to Walter. After all, it had been sent for him.


End file.
